


DROUGHTJOY 2017

by TotemundTabu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Flash Fic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-18 05:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: Droughtjoy was a week (20-27 August 2017) with Theon Greyjoy prompts since in s7 we saw very little of Theon. Here I am going to post just the flashfics.





	1. prompt 9

**Author's Note:**

> These flashfics have not been beta-ed, because my wife is currently sick. I tried to correct every typo and mistake, but my English is not the best, so I apologize for any problem! I may edit them in the future if she points out anything! Thank you for reading my mess!

**Prompt 9:** So the prompt is before Euron attacked the ships Theon can be seen drinking and he thinks about a lot of things. About the past, present and future. What was going through the young krakens mind? (Submitted by Anon) – Angst. NSFW. Idk if one can say “wine cock” as “whiskey dick” but it was on urbandictionary so. THROBB.

 

* * *

 

 

He chugs down the wine, at first slowly, then all at once.

Maybe it could heal him up, like once did sex. Or _his_ laugh.

“You drink too much. - he chuckled, more than once, eyes shining bright, then sinking his lips in Theon's neck – You'll get a wine cock.”

The tent was barely lit by the orange weak light of a candle, but it set fire to Robb's auburn speckles. Heart of fire, eyes like the sea he almost forgot.

Theon snorted, “Your grace... - he said unceremoniously – You're an ass.”

Robb laughed and caught his lips in his own, smiling in the kiss, as their tongues met. Robb closed his eyes, sinking deeper in Theon's mouth, while Theon always kept his eyes open as long as he could.

He liked looking at Robb.

“So, then again. - he laughed, then his hand went on Robb's breeches, pulled high by his hard shaft – What did that fucking Kingslayer say?”

Robb whined, “Remind me why I should talk about another man, while you're about to blow me.”

Theon snorted again, smirked smug, then lowered his head and, uncovered Robb's manhood, started to kiss it, while his hand caressed Robb's thighs and balls.

“You know. - a kiss – I like to hear it. - a lick on the base – a lick on the tip – Your grace.”

Robb bit his lips, his hips twitching.

His eyes stormed with desire and burned in need.

“ _I've never seen you with a girl_.”, he quoted, sour.

But annoyance washed away from him as Theon's mouth enveloped his cock, so warm that Robb bit lips harder to choke a moan, bucking slowly on Theon's tongue. Theon's eyes shone, a gleam so dark, pupils dilated in arousal, while he felt Robb hitting the back of his throat.

He still remembers how he tasted.

He sighs deeply and looks at the empty wooden tankard. He can hear Yara and Ellaria chirping next to him. Once, it would have made him aroused.

“And why is that?”, Theon asked, moving slightly away.

Robb's cock-head still rested on his tongue, heavy and big, pulsing in need.

Robb stared at him, his chest jumping with every heartbeat.

“Because I'm yours.”, Robb whispered, smitten.

And Theon went back to sucking, to welcome him in. Robb's hands passed on his curls, as he thrust, in need for relief.

Theon's eyes sting.

_I was yours too_ , he think, in a sob he strangled down; and he buries it at the bottom of his stomach, for nobody to see.

He can feel his heart hurt. And that's how he knows he still has one.

Or that he is alive at all.

Ramsay's pain never failed him in that, in reminding him, in telling him he was alive – that he was not with Robb. But now, that he is not with Robb anyway, now that he also doesn't have any punishment to purify his flesh, any pain to remind him he, at a certain point existed, he wonders what he was, after all. Did he just drop to hell and Robb was somewhere else entirely?

_I was yours too_.

He stands up to grab himself some more wine.

Maybe if he dies now, he wonders, after saving Sansa, maybe now he will go to where Robb is.

And he will hear that laugh again. That soft laugh.

Ellaria turns her hand to him, and Theon chokes another sour sob as he is tore apart again from Robb, even in his thoughts.

 

 

 


	2. Prompt 12

**Prompt 12:** Theon teaches Sansa how to fire a bow (submitted by [@blueagia](https://tmblr.co/meKJAOzMui2QPPOIIrEwcVg)) – I called the Mediterranean Draw Dornish, seemed to fit. References to past!abuse/rape, references to the book events of the Pink Wedding. The song Sansa remembers is actually a passage from Ariosto's The Frenzy of Orlando/Raging Roland. Hurt/Comfort. Hopefully it's cute and fluffy. THEONSA.

 

* * *

 

 

Theon sighed, unwillingly loud.

“Not... _exactly_ the bull's eye.”

Sansa turned to him, before almost offended and then, as her eyes met his, with an amused look. She licked her lips, shyly. “I... - she chuckled – I'm a disaster at this.”

She lowered the bow, as to give up, looking at her poor arrows, scattered all around the target, one – the closest to any result – stuck just in the outer ring. Bran did better at age six.

Theon shook his head and then moved closer to her.

“You're not that bad.”, he murmured, raising her elbow to fix her position.

Sansa's glance fell on his fingers.

“...can you still...”

“Aye. - he swallowed – But I'm not strong enough for the bow yet.”

She smirked, side-eyeing him, “Is our proud Theon Greyjoy admitting I am stronger than him?”

Theon didn't look at her, while placing her fingers for the best dornish draw.

For a moment, Sansa thought she may have overdone, then he commented, low-voiced, but firm, as if he wanted to say it before but couldn't grasp the courage to.

“You always were.”

Sansa blinked, jumped, startled, and shot an arrow into the soft snow, a few meters from them. Theon stared at her face, blushed in the softest pink, then at the arrow, buried in ice.

He sucked his lips and his shoulders trembled.

“... _way_ not the bull's eye.”, he commented, trying his best to hold a laugh.

Sansa, though, stared down, realizing how much she missed hearing him laugh; there was a time, when they were kids, when... but that was of no importance now.

She found herself trembling as he looked at her again.

It was ridiculous to feel like that, probably, after what they went through, after the forced intimacy of that night. She shivered remembering when Ramsay jerked down Theon's by the neck and pushed him on her, forcing him to... and she, she had been so angry at him for that, and then, thinking back, that was the only moment she could remember without wanting to throw up; Theon had tried, at least, to not make it hurt for her, to make her feel any good in that awful night, and wouldn't have dared to even touch her if Ramsay hadn't ordered him to.

He would have never hurt her...

And when he held her in the forest, for a moment, for just an instant alone, Sansa felt safe. After _years_.

She felt like maybe one, one single good thing in all that mess that had been her Boltonian interlude there had been. And that thing was-

“Sansa?”, he blinked, worried.

“Ah umh...”

“Are you feeling unwell?”, he asked.

Theon placed a hand on her forehead, gently, and Sansa couldn't tell there were fingers missing. It was Theon's hand, as warm on her as his hug had been months before.

“You seem fine. - he mumbled, then frowned – But maybe it's better we return inside. It's snowing heavily and I wouldn't want you to get sick.”

“I'm fine.”

It came out so high-pitched and strong, it almost sounded like a whine or a tantrum. She held Theon's arm back and kept him there.

She almost panicked, seeing how tight her grip was. Theon just stared at it as if he never saw hands in his life. Sansa felt her heart sting as she thought: “You had so many women's hands on you before...” .

Her lips quivered but she forced herself to sound as noble and as dignified as she could.

“I'm fine. I'm not a child.”

Theon shook his head, smiling, as he could only with her, when it was just the two of them. A tired smile, not strong, not a smirk, not bright with teeth out. But an honest, tender smile, and that to Sansa was more precious than anything.

“Jon won't forgive me if I let you get ill.”

She smiled wide and pulled him a bit closer, “I am the lady of Winterfell, excuse me? He might be King in the North, but here it's my...”

She got distracted. Her glance fell on his lips.

Theon looked at her, between awe and shyness – shy! Theon Greyjoy shy! - and then Sansa was sure he was about to raise his hand to caress her cheek; but he didn't.

“Please... - she let out – My siblings they... they all changed. So have I but... all the magic I wanted back, all the things I wanted to return to Winterfell for... they look so far away now.”

All but one.

She swallowed, as she realized Theon nodded and bent, to get her fallen bow back. When did she drop it? Oh. To hold him.

He looked at the bow fondly, almost as if he could hear a song from it, then he smiled at Sansa.

“If my lady needs to be a bit playful, then she can. - he said, almost in a whisper – But she will have some warm soup and mulled wine when we return inside.”

Sansa grinned.

“But I'm tired of archery. - she admitted, shameless, looking then at Theon with a light-hearted cheerfulness she didn't know she still had in herself, she felt a wish rise, a wish she didn't have since it all started – I want to dance.”

Theon frowned, “Who should I call for you?”

Sansa sighed, at Theon's obliviousness, then remembered an old song: “ _She, if of vain desire will not die, must help herself, nor yet delay the aid. And she in truth, her will to satisfy, deemed 'twas no time to wait till she was prayed_.” ; and while she always found weird, a bit bold, for the woman to ask, to beg, to confess, as she looked at Theon, she had to realize asking him to believe in himself would have been too much, perhaps, so, renouncing every tie to shame, she grabbed him. “You don't need to call anyone else.”

Theon flinched, gulped and stared at her in utter confusion.

His voice trembled, bewildered, “San...sa, I can't... - sheer shame seemed to cross his eyes – My toes.”

She smiled and put her hand on Theon's cheek, as he didn't dare to.

“But I don't fancy to do it with anyone else.”

Theon tilted his head, interrogative, “Are you afraid of them, my lady? - she put his hand on her waist and see him stiffening, which pleased her a bit with encouragement, especially as he stuttered a bit – There are valiant men in the North who wouldn't hurt you.”

“Oh, I know.”, she said, curling her lips up, passing one hand on Theon's hip to also go on the perfect position.

It usually hurt thinking about Robb, but she smiled that time, wondering how hard would have he laughed in seeing Theon Greyjoy so embarrassed at a younger woman asking him for a dance.

She was sure he would have forgiven him, by then. And her too. For their own stupid naive actions, for their wish to be a hero and a queen more than Theon and Sansa. She was sure, he would have smiled to them with not an inch of anger.

Theon hardly swallowed, finding it hard to look at her in the eyes.

Her other hand entwined with Theon's maimed one, fingers matching perfectly in her mind. And the rest didn't matter much.

She smiled, giving the first movement, “I always wanted a prince.”

Theon followed, hesitating, his movements showing a certain clumsy roughness due to his wounds, but the old talent he had made still his grip delicate, his lead smooth, and as he held to Sansa's waist, they both found out a rhythm, not in the rest of the world, but in each other.

“What do princes do in the songs, Theon?”, she asked.

He chuckled, bitterly, still holding her tight, “They're heroes, of course.”

Sansa moved her foot wrong, where Theon's was supposed to go next, and forced him to stop and stared at her.

“They save maidens.”, she corrected him, closing her eyes and the distance between their lips.

Theon seemed to want to move away, for a moment, as he shivered against her.

He passed his arms around her and pulled her closer, getting tipsy with her delicate softness, tasting heaven as Sansa smiled in the kiss, feeling her so happy his heart almost collapsed, emptied from every weight and every tear.

But the idea of hurting Sansa... What would have people say of her? Being close to him? Would have they laughed at her? Think he did for some glory? Who would have understood? Did Sansa feel maybe she had to? To thank him?

“I'm no prince... - he whispered, parting from the kiss – I'm a ruined man.”

Sansa shook her head, “I was no maiden anymore either. - her eyelids fluttered and she smiled, looking at Theon's lips – To the world, I'm ruined too.”

Sansa wondered if he could still feel _his_ voice in his head at night, when winds sung through Winterfell's stone walls and frozen windows. She knew she could.

But she never heard it when Theon was around.

Theon frowned, moving his hands to her face, gently, caressing it, so softly.

“Nothing could ruin you.”

She smiled, a tear rolled down a cheek, her lips twitched, “He can't hurt us anymore.”

Theon's fingers run through her soft auburn hair, ever so sweetly.

Her hand sunk in Theon's clothes, clenching his sleeve, keeping him close, she sniffled up her nose, so unladylike but it didn't matter anymore. She didn't need courtesies with Theon, with Theon she needed no armor.

“I took care of it.”, she repeated, almost more to herself that to him, unsure who needed more comfort, unsure who needed more to think they were still human.

And Theon swallowed, bit his lips. He cursed himself, like in the old times, when smug and loud him and Robb would play in the woods and they'd fell. For a moment, he seemed to be back, his eyes shone dark with the old charm, the one he always used on all the ladies, but never on Sansa... she resented him for that. Then that disappeared too.

No Reek, no Theon Greyjoy.

Just Theon.

He looked at her, serious, unprepared as she was, trembling not out of fear but anticipation and, oh, oh, Jon would have hated them both. But he pulled her close all the same and kissed her again, getting lost in her, as she got lost in him.

 


	3. prompt 1

**Prompt 1:** When Theon is drifting alone he hallucinates a familiar face. (Submitted by Anon) – I don't need to say it, right? ...like... nobody expected differently, right? Angst. THROBB.

* * *

 

Theon spat another salty mouthful of water. The taste of the squall lingered in his mouth.

His eyes twitched, his head drummed. His fingers dug into the wet sand.

… wet sand?

He blinked, looked down. Sand. Earth. Land.

Theon almost smiled, his mouth twitching nervously, before he remembered. He failed Yara, again.

Of course, he realized he had no other choice, that the situation had no solution, but he wondered if she knew, if she understood, if she would or could have ever forgiven him that.

He wondered if she would have been happy he escaped.

But he needed to get her back.

He tried to stand up, but his legs protested – his knee hurt and he was sure his toes started bleeding again. He almost wondered if he was too disgusting even for fishes to eat him.

And then, he raised his head from the sand, and there _he_ was. To him he was returned to.

His heart was dragged down by his undertow and drowned into it.

“Robb.”, he choked out.

Theon almost dripped behind, falling again, on his ass, and stared at the figure in front of him: a ghost, for sure, all dolled up in heavy winter furs in a just windy land at a few steps from the sea.

A smile.

“Theon.”, he said, calmly, tilting his head.

Theon's lips trembled. His throat closed and so his heart clenched shut.

“You can't be real.”

“Well. - the ghost frowned – That's kind of rude?”

Theon blinked, looked away and questioned himself, then nodding and shrugging, “I, I guess. Sorry.”

“It's fine. - another easy laugh – Let's not lose our heads.”

Theon stared at him, horrified. “The hell?”

Robb-ghost-thing seemed disappointed, “Oh, this works only if you know how the... - he groaned – Nevermind. Oh, don't make that face. - he laughed, even though his eyes were lucid and watery too, just like Theon's – I... missed you and I thought about which jokes to make when I would have met you again. But aye, black humor suits you more than me.”

Theon let out an half-relieved chuckle, “On you, it just sounds passive-aggressive.”

Robb rolled his eyes to the sky, “Fine. It's not like I'm dead and you could at least be nice and laugh to my japes.”

Theon found himself snorting, his head hurt, his rib cage was a trunk of sobs and regrets, and soon he started melting in tears. Every laugh turning into a whine.

Robb squatted in front of him, smiling softly.

“Thank you for protecting Sansa.”

Theon chugged down a strangled sob, “Don't you hate me? For Bran? And Rickon?”

“You never hurt them. - the ghost-thing smiled, caressing the tears away and they seemed to leave Theon's cheek, which made his heart swollen up in hope – When you die, you see it all, Theon, I went to war for love to my family, you did the same.”

Theon's throat jumped, his Adam's apple hurting, his jaw clenched.

“I should have died with you.”

Robb caressed his hair. And Theon felt the warmth and he wished for that ghost to never leave.

“That's not what I wanted. - Robb promised, in a whisper, his eyelids trembling, his glance on Theon's lips – I never wanted it. I would... I would have sent you to take the black.”

“But you thought I killed them.”

Robb's mouth quivered in vacillation and misery.

“You know that I-”

“You married someone else...”, Theon let out, almost a whine, almost a prayer.

He had no right to be hurt by that.

He had no right at all. And still.

“I wouldn't have let Talisa live had she betrayed me. - his eyes were not cold, but hard, as metal, as the truth, and, when he bowed closer to Theon, Theon was sure the ghost's breath was almost warm – I loved you.”

Theon winced.

His hand went to the ghost's cheek. He found himself able to touch it.

He rejoiced, smiling, finally, wide and happy. He had died, he had died, he was not alone anymore.

No pain from Ramsay. No fights with Yara. No scorn from everyone.

Just Robb, just _his_ Robb.

“Now... now we can return to. Again.”, he whispered, his lips bent in the sweetest smile.

Robb shook his head, slowly.

Theon's heart sunk. Something tore it.

It felt worse than Ramsay's bradawl or knife.

“The gods are not finished with you. - Robb promised, in a sweet voice, but that didn't stop it from feeling like a condemn – Bran will tell you. - he caressed Theon's wrists and kissed them, gently – Can you look over Sansa and Yara a bit longer? Our sisters, they both need you.”

Theon's eyelids twitched. Tears rolled to the sand.

He licked his lips, bit them and nodded, with labor.

His voice came out crumpled and weak, “I will.”

Robb's smile started to fade, his skin thinner and less visible. He looked pained, as if he had to force himself not to cry. He let out a small, nervous laugh and, all choked, said, “I'll wait a bit longer.”

Theon's eyes widened in sheer sadness.

He thrust forward and, with a last-gasp effort, tried to move to Robb, hand tensed towards him.

The cold of the water shook away the sand, the land and Robb's face too.

The brackish water slapped him.

All that remained to him was that fucking dark blue and the useless foam and the tired salt of the sea, still at the height of his throat, drifting him around.

Only, this time, he knew he couldn't just die.

 

 

 


End file.
